


cause you dirtied me up

by takesguts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry, Cheating, Dirty Talk, Idk what happened, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Porn, Size Kink, Top Liam, explicit content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takesguts/pseuds/takesguts
Summary: if you’re going to tell them everything, don’t leave out the good part.If Liam’s mum knew what he’s been up to the last few weeks, he’d never hear the end of it, he’s sure. She would be so disappointed in her son, knowing she raised him better. To be respectful and responsible, to be kind to others and to never take advantage. Certainly to never cheat.One thing his mother did not teach him about, however, was Harry Styles.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Liam Payne/Harry Styles, Niall Horan/Louis Tomlinson/Zayn Malik
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	cause you dirtied me up

If Liam’s mum knew what he’s been up to the last few weeks, he’d never hear the end of it, he’s sure. She would be so disappointed in her son, knowing she raised him better. To be respectful and responsible, to be kind to others and to never take advantage. Certainly to never cheat. 

  
  
  


One thing his mother did _not_ teach him about, however, was Harry Styles. Harry Styles with his thick thighs and pert arse in dresses and too big shirts that slipped off his shoulders and played peekaboo with his myriad of tattoos. Harry Styles whose tight, pink little arsehole _gaped_ after Liam got his cock in him. 

  
  
  


Harry Styles who had a boyfriend when they met, and still does three weeks later. 

  
  
  


Who Liam is currently fucking while a party rages on right outside of the bedroom they are in, deafening the sounds of the shit double bed frame that’s banging rhythmically against the wall. A party his boyfriend is currently attending. 

  
  
  


_“Ah, ah, ah….”_

  
  
  


Liam’s not even undressed, unlike Harry who is starkers, just has his trousers unzipped and open enough to get his dick out and inside Harry. He’s standing by the side of the bed, big hands cupping the other boys lithe waist with a bruising grip as he bounces him on his cock, in complete control of the movement. Harry’s boneless, letting himself be used and loving it, as he always does, the little slag. 

  
  
  


“You’re so good to me, Liam,” he praises mindlessly, struggling onto his elbows so he can look over his shoulder at his lover, “make me feel so good, fuck.” 

  
  
  


Only a little breathless with exertion from doing a majority of the work - not that he minds in the slightest, why gain the strength and stamina if not to show it off - Liam presses himself in as deep as he can and gives a few slow, dirty grinds of his hips that have the other lad wriggling helplessly. 

  
  
  


“Yeah?” He goads, grotesquely addicted to the compliments. It’s why he can’t give this up, why he can’t seem to take a step back and examine the choices he’s making; Harry strokes his ego like no one else he’s ever been with has before. Is always earnest and dedicated to making sure Liam knows how big his dick is, how he’s never been fucked like this before, how hard Liam can make him come. Liam’s merely a man, at the end of it all, isn’t he? No amount of proper manners could keep him from serving his most primal instincts; not when he’s making Harry’s legs quake uncontrollably and all the while being _thanked_ for it. 

  
  
  


“Oh, _yessss!”_ Harry gasps, dropping his head back forward to bite at the sheets, the roots of his curls a bit darker with sweat. Liam debates flipping him over despite how much he loves to be able to see himself stretching out Harry’s ass, watch Harry’s sweet little hole mouth at his cockhead when he pulls all the way out. But he _also_ loves watching how fucking red his boy gets, how his cheeks and neck, all the way down to his chest get so flushed and bright that even if he were to put some clothes on and reattend the party everyone would be able to tell what he had been up to. 

  
  
  
  


“Tell me about it, babe,” Liam prompts, letting Harry’s hips down to be fully flush with the bed now so he can get his hands on his arse cheeks, spreading them further apart so he can watch as he slowly slides his dick back out, arousal burning in his chest like a gin at how bloody gorgeous it is, how nasty. 

  
  
  


Whimpering, Harry tries to get his knees under himself, most likely to try and push himself back onto Liam’s cock but gives in easily at a steady smack to his bum. He settles for awkwardly reaching an arm back, finger tips stroking at his own crack, nudging at his hole. 

  
  
  


“Ooooh,” he murmurs happily, clumsily petting his fingers, “I’m so open. Second day in a row this week, us shagging, you’re keeping me so stretched.” 

  
  
  


Pleased, Liam’s cock jumps at the comment, and he smacks Harry’s hand away to press the tip against his entrance. Next to Harry is the lube and he uses one hand to grab it and thumb the cap open, flipping it over so he can drizzle more down Harry’s ass crack and his dick. He loves it when it’s wet, loves how messy it looks and sounds. Especially with Harry’s svelte ass, how pink and flushed his asshole is from being fucked, how easy it is to just rail him once he’s nice and slick.

  
  
  
  


“If Matt saw, he’d know,” Harry continues eagerly, clearly working himself up, shallowly humping the mattress, “he’d know someone else was fucking me, because he could never get me this open. Never made me gape like your fat cock does.” 

  
  
  


Eyes nearly crossing, Liam grunts as he shoves back in Harry’s ass, bracing his hands on the mattress next to the lad's ribcage as he starts dicking into him again, rough and steady. He doesn’t ever bring Harry’s boyfriend up himself, only knows that Harry hasn’t slept with him in over a month, since even before they met which is a whole lot of reason this started in the first place. He tries not to ask any questions, doesn’t really want to know, though he’s grossly pleased that only he’s touching Harry now and that (by Harry’s assurances) the only reason they’re still together is the partnered poetry assignment worth half their grade for the semester. There's been mutual distance and a bit of animosity growing for a while he had explained when he confessed his situation after they shagged the first time, to which Liam had been mildly devastated. Of course a fit, amazing guy like Harry couldn’t just be single and interested in Liam. 

  
  
  


For all of a day and a half after Liam had valiantly tried to ignore and forget about Harry, but the other bloke had been unfairly (and adorably, much to Liam’s dismay) persistent until Liam agreed to sneak around for the last couple of weeks of the assignment. 

  
  
  


So, no, Liam doesn’t bring him up, doesn’t want to in order to remain as blind and dumb about it as he can, but Harry. Harry fucking loves it, for whatever reason. Gets himself proper wild and randy comparing them, babbling away about how much _better_ at sex Liam is, how much _bigger_ . How Liam can make him cry and scream like a pornstar, awakening a sexual desire in him he didn’t know he _had._ That since Liam he wants it so much now, too much, all of the time and in any way he can have it. 

  
  
  


There’s a small part of Liam, the lonely, insecure high schooler he once was, that worries he’s being played by this beautiful boy. That Harry’s constant texts and bewitching smile are just simple manipulation and Liam is going to end up a poor sod at the end of this, but. 

  
  
  


“You little slut,” Liam huffs, giving Harry’s ass another couple smacks which have him crying out and giggling, “s’that what you love? Bein all loose and used when I’m through with you?” 

  
  


“Yes, yes, yes,” Harry chants long fingers tangling in his own hair and tugging frantically, “yes I love it, you hit it so good -“ 

  
  
  


“Just right, yeah?” 

  
  


_“Mmhmm!”_ Harry moans as one of Liam’s hands also grabs his hair, yanking his head back so his back arches obscenely. 

  
  
  


This is the riskiest thing they’ve done; Liam has his own flat they’ve been solely meeting up at for sex and takeaway since they can’t exactly go out publicly yet. Liam never had any intention of stepping foot in Matt’s own place, hadn’t know when Niall and Zayn dragged him here until he saw Harry coming out of the toilets with his best mate Louis (who Liam is sure is the only other person who knows what’s going on, he hasn’t even managed to confess to his mates, is hoping to put it off until he and Harry are officially together to soften their reactions). Louis noticed him first, nudging Harry and gesturing over in Liam’s direction. Upon seeing Liam, Harry had broken out into the loveliest smile; shy and surprised. They’d circled around each other for a bit - cheekily cheers-ing drinks from across the room, sneaking heated glances. Harry wasn’t spending any time with his boyfriend, they were almost always in separate rooms and Matt was always surrounded by a bunch of his own mates and a twinky blonde Harry swore he was cheating on him too with. 

  
  
  


Finally, Niall and Zayn had unknowingly brought them together in their own attempt to chat up Louis - to Liam’s own minor surprise turned out to be the Louis they’d been mentioning for the last week or so, desperately eager to get him into their bed but unsure how to go about it. Truthfully, if they hadn’t managed to convince themselves Liam would have maybe just allowed the night to play out as it was, secretly flirting with Harry from afar so as to not be tempted for more while in his boyfriends own home. But Niall had said, _you’ve met Harry, right? Saw you two chatting at the library, d’ya think ya could chat him now? Get us an in?_

  
  


Always the sucker for Niall’s baby blues and Zayn’s sultry pout (a temptation he’s never fully given into, despite numerous offers), not to mention it wasn’t exactly a hardship to get closer to Harry, Liam had guided them over and they’d all hit it right off. So well, in fact, Liam had briefly wondered if somehow they _all_ knew with how quickly Louis and Niall had got on, pressing close and flirting with wandering hands and hooded eyes. If it hadn’t been for Zayn’s gobsmacked expression as he watched the two lads start to snog in front of him, he might have been convinced it was a set up.

  
  
  


As it was, Harry had taken that as the perfect hint to flash his own bedroom eyes, which led them to well, here. 

  
  
  


“I want him to catch us,” Harry says breathlessly, and Liam’s rhythm stutters and falters briefly before he’s outright slamming into the other boy now, something dark and primal possessing him. 

  
  
  


“You’re mad,” he replies, chuckling, heart hammering, “bloody mad.” 

  
  


“I do, I do,” Harry insists wildly, managing to scramble onto his hands and knees finally, “I want him to see you - you fucking taking it, taking my ass -“

  
  
  


“Harry, fuck, fuckin-“

  
  
  
  


“Cause it’s yours, it’s yours,” he promises, using the new leverage to meet Liam’s thrusts, “ohhh fuck, it’s yours Liam, god. You’re fucking me so good right now, holy shit.” 

  
  
  
  


Harry makes Liam feel like an animal sometimes, like a caged beast pacing in its chains, just waiting till they wear thin and brittle. Instinctively, encouraged by the way his balls ache and his abs twitch at the words, Liam stands straight again and shoves his trousers and pants down and kicking them off his ankles. Hiking one knee up on the mattress he shoves Harry’s face back down again, so his ass is the only part of his body propped up for Liam’s pleasure. 

  
  


Harry positively wails at the rough handling, nodding furiously as he’s thrusted into mercilessly in his boyfriends bed. Something ugly and proud twists in Liam’s gut at the knowledge that that wanker will pass out tonight in the bed another man made his boyfriend come in. 

  
  
  


He tries not to think about it, talk about it; he does, he does, he _does._ Liam knows he’s a good guy, tries to do the right thing, helps the elderly across the street, but so help him - _this_ he can be a bad guy for. Getting his dick wet on the daily by the loveliest lad Liam has ever had the chance of pleasuring. 

  
  
  


“Gonna make you fucking shake, baby,” Liam growls, shifting a bit to get his foot on the mattress before going at it again. He wants to make Harry come, wants to flip him over and kiss his face, covered in tears and sweat and drool, wants to leave him on the bed naked and trembling while he fetches them some water with the door open so everyone and Harry’s boyfriend can see that it’s Liam who takes care of Harry now, in more ways than one. 

  
  
  


Outside of the bedroom, the party blares on, but Liam can hardly hear even just the music anymore over their heady moans, frantic smacks of skin, the filthy squelch of lube and sweat. Liam’s own hairline is beginning to dampen, they’ve been at it for who knows how long, and the proof of exertion is welcome. Liam would do anything for this boy. No matter how taxing. 

  
  
  


It's almost impossible that Liam notices the door knob twisting out of the corner of his eye, he’s so focused on the brunet beneath him. Only when the jiggling of the knob gets more aggressive, as it’s locked, does Liam realize what’s happening. 

  
  
  


_“Oi, Matt, someone’s in yer room!”_

  
  


There’s a couple of jeers and laughter. 

  
  
  


_“That’s bad manners, knickin the hosts bed like that.”_

  
  
  


Liam stops, ears straining, as Harry makes an inquisitive sound beneath him. Someone’s pounding on the door now, trying the knob harder. 

  
  
  
  


_“Open up, ya gits,”_ Matt is laughing from the other side of the door, _“I don’t want anybody comin’ in that room unless it’s me!”_

  
  
  


More hoots and hollers rise from the blatant innuendo and it has Liam swiftly stepping back, reaching for his jeans, pulse skittering. 

  
  
  


“Liam, wha-?” 

  
  
  


Finally Harry seems to gather his wits about him more, sitting up with his curls a mess and face bright red, blinking through the dimness of the room and squinting at the sounds from outside the door. 

  
  
  
  


Frantic, Liam struggles with his zip over his still rock hard stiffy, fumbling a little with nerves. They were _just -_ bloody hell, they were just talking about this, _fantasizing_ about it and now - 

  
  
  


“Fuck,” Liam mutters, glancing around for his flannel - the only article of clothing Harry had managed to work off of him. The knocking grows more insistent, Matt’s voice more impatient. Liam has no idea what the fuck to do - it’s one thing to talk dirty about being caught, it’s another to actually _be caught_. Liam really doesn’t want to have to fight anybody tonight. Or well, ever, but more pressingly in this instant. 

  
  
  


“Calm down,” Harry soothes quietly, not looking nearly as concerned as Liam thinks he should be, “get behind the door.” Climbing out of bed he musses the duvet up and grabs a T-shirt and the tiniest pair of black briefs out of the bottom drawers in the nightstand. 

  
  
  


“What?” Liam hisses disbelievingly. 

  
  
  


Making his way over to stand in front of Liam, Harry smoothes his hands down Liam’s chest, rubbing at his abs. He looks a right mess, hair wild; he pushes Liam into the corner of the room, right next to the door, “trust me.” 

  
  
  


Agitated, Liam tries to make himself as small as possible as Harry gives him a playful wink. Throwing his hair into a messy bun, he makes a show of rubbing his flushed cheeks and eyes with his fist, faking a yawn as he opens the door. 

  
  
  


“Mmwhats up?” 

  
  
  


Then it’s like a scene from a film, or maybe a bad porno; Harry playing the role of the slumbering boyfriend while the other man hides behind the door. As if that actually works or happens. They’re going to get caught, Harry’s boyfriend is going to come in and see Liam tucked in the corner and wonder why some other guy was in his room with Harry, the door locked, while he was apparently sleeping. He doesn’t want to have to punch anybody, and he certainly doesn’t want to be punched, but he’ll do what’s necessary. 

  
  
  


“Harry?” Matt says, confused. It shouldn’t, but it tickles Liam just a bit, that maybe Harry isn’t putting him on when he says they’ve been drifting further apart. 

  
  
  


Making a show of shuffling and stumbling on his feet a bit, Harry leans further against the door, backing Liam into the wall. Liam can see his own shoes just under the bed from where he’s standing. 

  
  
  


“‘Avin a kip,” Harry slurs, and Liam can’t see his face but he imagines the soft, dreamy expression he gets when he’s really sloshed and ready for bed, “drank too fast, sorry.” 

  
  
  
  


The commotion seems to be dispersing - the other party go-ers losing interest at the lack of shagging and drama, Liam can see shoulders disappearing through the barest crack in the door. 

  
  
  


“Oh. Why are you wearing my shirt?” 

  
  
  


Then. 

  
  
  


“Did you puke in my bed?” 

  
  
  


Liam exhales as quietly as he can, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. They might actually get away with this, which seems impossible, but drunk eyes and all.

  
  
  


“No, juss knackered.” 

  
  
  


“Alright, love, do you want me to call you a car?” 

  
  
  


Chest puffing, Liam has to stop himself from stepping in and defending the not actually plastered Harry because what kind of wanker would send their boyfriend home if he were too pissed to stay awake. 

  
  
  


“Er - no,” Harry blurts, seemingly caught off guard, and Liam’s heart rate picks up again. “No, I’ll do it. Should get - back changed, yunno.” 

  
  
  


“Let me know when you’re leaving, I’ll walk you out.” 

  
  
  


“Cheers.” 

  
  
  


Slowly backing into the room, Harry gives an awkward little wave as he shuts the door. Liam stays a bit stunned, that it’d been so simple, so easy. That was it. Did Harry’s boyfriend genuinely not care anymore? Or was it something else? Had Harry become so good at lying to him that he just took everything he did at face value? 

  
  
  


Liam needs to get out of here. 

  
  
  
  


Flicking the lock shut again, Harry rounds to beam at him, “talk about a self fulfilling prophecy, yeah?” He chuckles a little, taking the top off again, unbothered. He’s left in just the briefs, giving Liam these flirty, sexy eyes like they didn’t just almost experience the worst possible case scenario. 

  
  
  
  


“We should head back to your flat,” he carries on, retrieving his own kit from around the room and pulling it on, “he’ll most likely pop back in a mo’ to send me off. I’ll call a car, meet me on the block corner?” 

  
  
  
  


“What?” Liam asks dumbly, not able to keep up as Harry putters about, grabbing his cell phone and fishing his keys out of his back pocket. 

  
  
  
  


“I’m going to head out first, obviously, wait a few and then follow me.” 

  
  
  


Pressing a quick, heated kiss to Liam’s open mouth and squeezing his biceps, Harry opens the bedroom door and peers around like the worst secret agent before slipping out with another cheeky wink over his shoulder. 

  
  
  


Liam’s still lost. 

  
  
  
  


Blinking, Liam shakes out of his stupor and briefly panics at the cracked bedroom door because Harry is actually the world's worst secret agent but the hallway miraculously seems empty. He follows suit and exits the room, feeling paranoid as he re-enters the throng of people still partying, unaware of what almost just happened. Harry isn’t anywhere in his sight, maybe is already outside though he doesn’t bother checking for Matt, is sure if they caught eyes the other man would be able to see the guilt on his face, clear as anything. 

  
  
  


Harry wants to go back to his flat, presumably to pick up where they left off before they were almost discovered. 

  
  
  


Matt almost found out. Matt almost found out, in his own flat, during his own party with most of his best mates around that his boyfriend of two yearis fucking someone else, in his own bed. 

  
  
  


Swiping a hand over his face, Liam sighs, feeling his phone buzzing against his thigh. It’s most likely Harry, and for the first time in almost a month Liam doesn’t want to reply. He wants to get the hell out of here, go home, _alone_ and sort his head out. This is - it's been going on too long, this isn’t someone he was raised to be, someone who hides and lies and hurts other people. He’s been thinking with his dick, and his dick only. Tonight made him realize that, which is stupid, but when you’re getting your cock sucked everyday it’s hard to focus on anything past that. But he should. He should have been and he wasn’t, but it’s time to start now. He could have gotten in serious trouble tonight if things had gone worse. If he had gotten in a fight, over a _boy_ , a boy who isn’t officially his, who belongs to someone else. He could have gotten in trouble with the police, could have lost his scholarship and all the hard work he’s put in since attending Uni. The life he’s built here and the one he is working toward. 

  
  
  
  


For a boy. 

  
  
  
  


Pulling out his phone, he opens the text from Harry saying he had to get in the car by himself, couldn’t wait because Matt had stayed with him till he was off. Suddenly the concerned lover, it seems. Liam stares at the text for a minute, debating on whether he should reply. If he doesn’t, Harry is sure to call him, but he doesn’t know if he should subject himself to Harry’s voice right now, pretending everything’s just a thrill, a laugh. He needs to think. 

  
  
  


Sending a simple _okay,_ he pockets his phone again and begins the walk home. 

  
  
  


  * \- - 



  
  
  


It takes him roughly thirty minutes to get home; he takes the neighborhood streets to avoid all the Saturday night campus chaos and beats himself up over his daftness, how easily he was swayed by charming dimples and a cute bum. Harry’s been stringing him on, been stringing his boyfriend on; the more Liam things about it, the worse he feels. Harry’s never mentioned anything other than having to stay together for a _project._ Could that really be it? An assignment? Even if it were worth so much of his grade, couldn’t they have switched partners? Or worked on it somehow separately? They were all adults now, mostly, surely they could have worked out _something_. 

  
  
  


Frustration building, Liam growls at himself, has a moment where he suddenly wants to hit something, but knows shattered knuckles from a building or light post aren’t worth it. For the last fifteen or so minutes his phone has been going off over and over; Harry’s at his flat by now, surely, assuming Liam had called a ride after him. But it’s been too long, he knows, and maybe it’s not fair to make Harry wait like this, without letting him know he was walking. It wouldn’t be wrong for Harry to worry something happened, by car his flat was only a few minutes away. 

  
  
  
  


Another call starts coming in just as he arrives at the front door. He gave Harry a spare just a few days after they first met and slept together, Harry had played with his belt loops while he cajoled him into it, saying it was just smart that way they could meet up whenever, between classes, and not have to make unnecessary calls or texts. Liam had agreed readily, already leaning down to snog Harry. 

  
  
  
  


Opening the door, he sees Harry on the couch in front of the telly; it’s on, but muted and he has his cell pressed to his ear. Hearing the door, he turns and peers over the couch, ending the call. 

  
  
  


“Hey,” he greets, tinkling his fingers at Liam, giving a charming grin, “what took you so long? Did you see Louis and them on your way out?” 

  
  
  


He’s helped himself to one of Liam’s flannels, and his torso swims in it. Liam’s so much broader than he is, so much more built; he looks so soft and gorgeous, it’s killing Liam to keep his eyes on him. How is he going to do this? How is he going to give up nights of amazing sex and takeout and murder mysteries? How is he going to give up Harry? He’s been weak this whole time, what’s going to make it different now? When Harry is already here and beautiful and able to welcome him like there’s nothing wrong, nothing amiss going on. 

  
  
  


“I ah, I walked actually,” Liam answers, managing to tear his gaze away to the floor. 

  
  
  


“Oh,” Harry laughs, “whatever for?” 

  
  
  


“Was thinking.” 

  
  
  
  


There’s a brief pause, and when Liam risks a glance, he can see Harry start to frown, shifting up onto his knees so he can lean his elbows on the head of the sofa. 

  
  
  


“Oh,” Harry says again, brows furrowing, “what about?” 

  
  
  


Sighing, Liam walks further into the house, running a hand through his hair, stopping when he’s directly in front of Harry but a few feet away. 

  
  
  


“You,” Liam admits, “us.” 

  
  
  


He knows he’s being vague, but he’s trying to come up with what he wants to say, what he _needs_ to say. He can tell already that the boy is working out that something isn’t quite right. Harry’s clever, more clever than Liam as it turns out, there’s no way it’d take him more than a handful of moments when Liam doesn’t immediately come to his side to start touching him, in any way he could get. 

  
  
  
  


“Sounds ominous,” Harry jokes, resting his chin on his forearms so he’s peeking through his fringe at Liam, looking so innocent and mischievous with his tongue between his teeth. It’s clear that whatever he’s noticed is wrong, he’s hoping to dissuade. 

  
  
  


“Wouldn’t say ominous…” 

  
  
  


He wouldn’t. He’s not trying to be cruel, he’s trying to do the proper thing. 

  
  
  
  


Suddenly Harry is crawling over the top of the couch, legs long and bare underneath Liam’s hoodie, “No? What would you say then?” 

  
  
  


“That uh,” Liam stutters, a pit in his stomach; he considered this might be uncomfortable, but reasoned that it’s only been about a month, it’s not like they’re in love or anything. But now, faced with the prospect of turning Harry away, Liam’s apparently realizing that while maybe he wasn’t in love yet, he could have been. He could have let himself, as simply as breathing. Harry is everything he could want in a relationship, in a lover. He’s sexy and dorky and so, so kind; just a bit strange, but bold and proud of it. 

  
  
  


Harry’s closer now, long arms wrapped around himself in a way that makes him look smaller, and Liam’s heart clenches painfully. 

  
  
  


Weakly, he clears his throat and avoids the other lads imploring gaze, “that we probably shouldn’t do this anymore. See each other, I mean.” 

  
  
  


“Liam,” Harry starts, alarmed and swiftly closing the remaining distance between their bodies, “Liam, what are you talking about, babe? Of course we should. I’m here now. I know what happened tonight was...nerve wracking. It was a little cock up, that’s all love. We will be more careful, it’s only for a while longer. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so silly about it.” 

  
  
  


His hands are on Liam’s biceps, rubbing them comfortingly while he brushes their hips together. Liam tries not to look at his face, doesn’t trust himself not to crumble. He’s not even certain he’s strong enough to do this. 

  
  
  
  


“Let’s just go to bed, alright?” He soothes, stepping toward the hall and attempting to tug Liam along. “We can talk about this more in the morning, figure some things out. But for now let’s just sleep.” 

  
  
  


“Harry, no,” Liam denies, grasping Harry’s hands with his own to remove them from his arms, “I don’t think we should go to bed together tonight. Not tonight, or any other night. We shouldn’t have been doing it at all, I knew it, but pretended not to because, gosh, Harry you’re lovely. So, so lovely. I’m devastated by you.” 

  
  
  


Giving a weak little chuckle, Harry attempts to touch him again, to press close, “Well then let me make you happy again, Liam Payne.” 

  
  
  


Holding his arms out now, Liam shakes his head, bites the inside of his cheek. Feigning some sort of bravery he looks Harry in the eye, tries to convey his seriousness. 

  
  
  


“I have no doubt that you could. Honestly, you have been. Being able to be with you like we have - it’s been so mind blowing for me. That someone like you would even bother with the likes of me, that you noticed me and kept coming back. It’s - it was too good to be true.” 

  
  
  
  


Harry’s face is breaking now, gone with the false bravado, hoping to charm this all away. He’s starting to seem upset, eyes flickering back and forth, searching. He’s wrapping his arms around himself again, knuckles white and straining in the fabric of the hoodie. 

  
  
  
  


“I don’t - I don’t understand what you’re saying?” He says, almost like a question, “It isn’t too good to be true, I’m here with you now, I always want to be here with you. Only you. I know - I know this isn’t a perfect situation, but it’s not always. It won’t always be like this. Just till the semester is up, it’s only a few away. Please don’t do this Liam, I don’t want you to. I know you don’t either, it’s just been a long night somehow, please let’s go to bed.” 

  
  
  


He’s getting more desperate as he talks, nearly pleading. Breathing harder, Liam blinks rapidly a few times, tries to ignore the way his chest feels tight, like something is squeezing his heart so hard it might break. 

  
  
  


“I think you should get dressed,” Liam says firmly, “I need to just. Be alone tonight, Harry. I need to think. Just get dressed, I’ll call you a car back to yours, alright?” 

  
  


“No!” Harry exclaims, almost stomping his foot as he flails his arms out, “no, it’s not alright. Liam don’t do this, I’m begging you. We can talk about it tonight, okay? We don’t have to wait till morning, let’s just sit down and talk, yeah? Come to the couch, we’ll work this out now. C’mon.”

  
  
  


He’s managed to grab ahold of Liam’s hand and intertwines their fingers, chin wobbling as he attempts yet again to tug Liam back toward the couch. He’s not weak by any means, but Liam can feel his own hurt and frustration flaring so he stands his ground. How can Harry be doing this to him? It’s hard enough in his own head, but seeing Harry push back, hearing him beg Liam to not let this go is hellish. 

  
  
  


“Go get dressed Harry, for fucks sake,” Liam barks, twisting his hand away roughly, startling them both. Harry’s just gaping at him, jaw dropped and chest heaving. Liam’s in no better state, hadn’t meant to raise his voice like that, but he can’t get his thoughts straight when Harry is trying to sweet talk him like this, won’t let him get sorted. 

  
  
  


“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout,” he says through a heavy breath, “I didn’t mean to. I just need tonight to think, that’s all. Get my head on straight. I need to be alone, please understand that.” 

  
  
  
  


There’s a long pause, where Liam thinks Harry might keep pushing him some more, but instead he just nods shakily and bites his bottom lip. He doesn’t say anything else as he walks past Liam into the bedroom and closes the door. 

  
  
  
  


Like his strings have been cut, instantly Liam feels drained and is developing a rapid headache. He puffs his cheeks out and rubs at his temples, exhausted. 

  
  
  
  


It’s a few minutes before Harry comes back out, fully dressed; his cheeks are blotchy, and he is starting to cry, just a bit. It’s the worst thing Liam’s ever seen and it takes all of his willpower to not fall to his knees and tell Harry to forget about it, and agree to just head to bed. He digs his fingernails into his palms. 

  
  
  
  


Stopping for a moment, Harry opens his mouth, and then shuts it, and then opens it, “I’ve a mate coming to get me, you don’t have to call a cab. I’m going to ah, wait outside.” 

  
  
  


Like he knows it might be his last play, Harry steps into him again and kisses him chastely on the cheek and then the mouth, once, twice - it makes Liam grip his waist on reflex, thumbs stroking along his love handles. Encouraged, Harry runs with the response, rocking onto his tiptoes to get even closer, kissing him again harder, and less chastely. It isn’t particularly filthy, but passionate, as if Harry is trying to show him what he’s considering giving up. He doesn’t search for more, and it’s a bit longer before he breaks the kiss, but doesn’t pull away. They’re both breathing hard, lips brushing. Harry’s hands are cupping his jaw, pressing their foreheads together. 

  
  
  
  


“Take tonight to think, love, okay. I’m sorry I pushed you like that, I just got upset.” He murmurs, “Just….yeah, just think tonight - it’s for the best. Really think.” He seems to be stressing this now, like he thinks if he says what Liam wants to hear he’s gaining ground. “Promise - promise me you’ll call me tomorrow though, alright?” He kisses Liam again, and Liam feels helpless. When he doesn’t answer right away, the fingers on his face tighten again and Liam leans back enough to see Harry is getting worked up again. “Promise me Liam, promise that you will call me tomorrow.” 

  
  
  
  


“I...I will,” he replies quietly, “I’ll do some thinking, and I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

  
  
  
  


“Do you promise?” Harry repeats, like he’s being playful, but Liam can see the franticness in his eyes, “Say you promise.” 

  
  
  
  


“I promise, Harry.” 

  
  
  
  


Harry’s phone starts buzzing then, pulling them further apart and Liam is grateful for the interruption. He’s not sure how much of this he can take. He feels as if he’s seconds away from just dropping to the ground and passing out. 

  
  
  


“That’ll be Nick,” Harry informs him, emphasizing Nick's name as though he’s reminding Liam he isn’t going back to his boyfriend for the night. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, babe. Call me when you get up.” 

  
  
  


Once more he presses their lips together before he heads for the door, managing a hopeful little smile with a wave as he disappears out the front. 

  
  
  
  


  * \- -



  
  


When he makes it into bed, all he wants to do is close his eyes and immediately fall asleep. He doesn’t want to think about anything, not what just happened, not what he’s trying to do. Just sleep. 

  
  
  


It sounds like the perfect option, but Liam can’t help but toss and turn anyway, an intrusive voice in his head whispering about how Harry had left - he doesn’t think they fought, not really, but somehow Harry left seeming like he felt he had won something. That he was in the lead again. 

  
  
  


Heart heavy, Liam finally manages to fall into a restless sleep around four in the morning. He silences his phone right before he passes out and turns over. 

  
  
  


  * \- - 



  
  
  


It feels late when he wakes up that morning; usually an early riser, he can tell when he isn’t up with the birds to start his day. Blearily he lays on his side for a bit, trying to ignore his immediately racing thoughts about the night before, about trying to break up with Harry. 

  
  
  


_No, not break up_ , he thinks viciously, reprimanding himself instantly at his longing, _you only break up when you’re together. You’re not together, because he’s with someone else._

  
  
  


Rolling over he checks the alarm clock - it’s just a bit past noon, which is extremely late for Liam. Groaning, he stretches, feeling stiff and still somehow so tired. He can’t remember the last time he felt this way, so heart sore; it certainly hadn’t been his last breakup which had more or less been mutual and awkward. Perhaps not even since his first real relationship; when he was young and sure he was in love. 

  
  
  
  


The promise to call Harry daunts him, knowing that Harry - while not quite as a morning body like Liam - is most certainly up by now. 

  
  
  
  


Grabbing his phone, he’s unsurprised to see a few texts from Harry already, ranging from a standard and seemingly cheery good morning, to question marks, then just _Liam?_ There’s three missed calls as well. 

  
  
  


Another burst of frustration courses through Liam; he had promised Harry he would call when he was up. Despite sleeping in way later than normal, he hadn’t given any inclination he would break that promise and still Harry refused to give him any of the space he requested. 

  
  
  


Clicking the lock, Liam sits on the edge of his mattress for a bit, contemplating. He really hadn’t given it any more thought, though in his gut he still feels he should stand by what he knows is right - however much he would love to fall right back into the other lad without question or concern. It’s not about what he feels for Harry, how he feels when he’s with Harry. It’s who he is hurting; a man he doesn’t know, who probably doesn’t deserve this, and more importantly himself. If Harry is able to lie and cheat so readily on his current relationship, who is to say that a month, a year, or even six years from now he couldn’t do the same to Liam? No matter how genuinely upset and afraid he had been last night at the prospect of ending things, it might not be what he’s thinking about in the moment, but it’s a possibility. Could Liam ever really trust him? 

  
  
  


Deciding that he had promised to call Harry today _after_ he had some time to think - which he _technically_ hadn’t really done yet, Liam opts to head to the gym first. Working out always cleared his mind and made him feel better, always an outlet for his emotions. 

  
  
  


_That’s what I’ll do,_ he assures himself, standing to get dressed. 

  
  
  


  * \- -



  
  


Two hours in the gym and he’s nearly crawling out of the exit; he keeps a regular routine but doesn’t push himself to the same extremes he did when he first started his fitness journey. Today has been a flashback of earlier days of insecurities and determination and a bit of obsessiveness to work himself until he nearly dropped. He’d taken a long shower in the locker room and avoided checking his phone in his bag, having not even bothered to use it for music during his workout. 

  
  
  


On his way home he realizes he’s starving, so he stops for takeaway at the place on the corner of Niall and Zayns street, picking up extra for them. He hasn’t bothered to give them a ring, but Saturdays are almost always their “lazy” days (most day’s are lazy days for them, if Liam’s being honest) and he’s sure they're home. 

  
  
  


It isn’t until he’s knocked that he recalls them pulling Louis last night and that there’s a possibility he might also be there. Before he truly panics, or has time to run away, Zayn is opening the door. 

  
  
  
  


“Hey, mate,” he greets gruffly, clad in joggers and a muscle tank that’s ripped down the sides, “come on in.” 

  
  
  


His fear is confirmed the moment he steps in the flat; Louis and Niall are cuddled up on the loveseat, both on their phones but touching in every other way they possibly can. 

  
  
  


“Oh!” Liam says in surprise, hoping it sounds normal and not at all like he’s having a meltdown, “I didn’t know you had company! Hello, Louis.” 

  
  
  


Glancing up from his screen, Louis quirks an eyebrow and gives a small smirk. Liam feels sweaty all over again. Nothing in his expression is giving Liam any clue of how much he knows about last night, if anything. 

  
  
  


“Hello, Liam.” He replies, and Liam thinks it sounds a bit mocking, but that is also just kind of Louis’ standard, from what he’s gathered. 

  
  
  


Awkwardly, Liam holds up the takeout, shrugging lamely, “I didn’t uh, I didn’t expect you here. I didn’t really bring enough, I’m sorry. Though - I don’t mean to interrupt either, I can just leave this and pick up something else on my way home.” He babbles, moving to do just that; setting the bags down on the mismatched dining room table and waving his hands around. 

  
  
  


Clucking his tongue, Louis shakes his head, smirk widening, “Don’t be daft, you paid for it. I’ll call for my own, you're already here, have a seat. We were just about to put some golf on.” He says the last part with an eye roll and a twist of Nialls nipple, who has remained completely engrossed in his phone since Liam walked in. 

  
  
  


“Oi,” he grumbles, smacking at Louis' fingers then finally turning his attention to Liam, “look at you!” He crows, “man of the hour, the day, the year! Always good on the thoughtfulness, you are; ole reliable.” 

  
  


Liam grins at him as Zayn comes back out of the kitchen with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, wallet in hand, “I’ve got to go pick up some more smokes - Lou, I’ll grab you some food, text me what you want, yeah? Niall, do you wanna come with? Buy ya a pint for your hangover.” He sounds bored, and looks unfairly like a grunge model to just be popping around the corner, but he looks at Niall and - well, and Louis so fondly that Liam almost misses the last part of what he says. 

  
  
  


For one long moment, Liam feels faint at Nialls considering face; if he has to wait here with Louis alone he’s sure he will die, but he nearly falls over in relief when his friend shakes his head, then tucks closer into Louis. 

  
  
  


“Nah, just grab me some beer for home,” he concedes. 

  
  
  


Zayn leaves with a mutter about being right back, and Liam shuffles into the living room, sitting gingerly on the other sofa adjacent to them. It’s weird seeing Louis in his own life, one that doesn’t include Harry because Harry’s never met his friends. Not for any particular reason, not even necessarily out of shame (though maybe a bit) but it just seemed easier. 

  
  
  
  


Now, Louis is here, in his space, with his mates - for who knows how long, an hour, the rest of the day, perhaps indefinitely? 

  
  


His phone is still in his gym bag that he’s left by the front door, and Louis has barely looked away from him since he said hello. Liam wishes he had bothered to ring. 

  
  
  


  * \- -



  
  


It’s early evening when Liam decides to leave Niall and Zayns. Louis had ended up hanging out the whole time, still seated comfortably in the living room as Liam gathered up his things. It’d been the most uncomfortable afternoon, Liam practically sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for Louis to make some cheeky, knowing comments, or just blurt out everything entirely or call him a wanker or any numerous scenarios that spiked Liam’s anxiety to a level he thought he’d taken care of at the gym. 

  
  
  


Nothing happens though, Louis remains as neutral as Liam guesses someone who always seems so smug can be and it isn’t until Liam announces he’s leaving, bag slung over his shoulder that Louis toes the line. 

  
  
  


“Aww,” he pouts, “leaving so soon? I was about to suggest some FIFA. There isn’t something pressing you ought to do, yeah?” 

  
  
  
  


Whether he knows exactly what happened or not, Liam can’t tell, but he does know that at the very least Liam is avoiding Harry. And has been all day. 

  
  
  
  


“Er, I’m quite knackered actually,” he answers carefully, “didn’t sleep well last night. Thought about trying to settle in early.” 

  
  
  


“No worries, Li,” Niall says, not seeming to pick up on the tense exchange, “we’ll chat tomorrow, yeah? Have a good night. 

  
  
  


Zayn walks him out as Louis echoes Niall, just a beat too late. 

  
  
  


  * \- -



  
  


Walking home, Liam finally decides to get his phone out; there’s even more texts now, increasing in frequency and emotion. He skims them briefly before he goes to his call log. Harry’s also called a bunch more times, even left a few voicemails. 

  
  
  


He listens to the latest one, and then immediately wishes he hadn’t when he hears Harry’s wobbling voice, “Liam, can you please let me know you’re alright, at the very least. Please! Please just tell me nothings happened to you, please.” 

  
  
  
  


Guiltily, Liam clicks back to Harry’s contact info and before he can talk himself out of it, hits the call. As much as he doesn’t want to do this, he knows it wasn’t particularly fair or kind to ignore Harry all day when he did make a promise. He just wishes he didn’t have to go through it again - forcing the words he desperately doesn’t want to say out for the second time, having to go through Harry’s pleading. He just wishes Harry could have let it be last night, shown him some mercy by accepting that this is what Liam had to do, though it was killing him to do it. 

  
  
  


It barely rings once before Harry is answering, and guilt rushes through Liam again, imaging him just sitting by his phone all day, waiting for Liam to call, hoping he’s changed his mind. 

  
  
  


Liam’s eyes sting, just a bit, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. 

  
  
  


“Liam!” Harry says quickly, like he’s afraid he might hang up, “Hi! Liam, hi. You - you meant to call, yeah? This um, I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you.” 

  
  
  


He sounds so small, so uncertain; two things Liam has never known Harry to be. Not when he can just brighten an entire room with his happiness to be wherever he is in that moment. 

  
  
  
  


“Yeah, I meant to call, H.” Liam replies tiredly, stepping into his flat and just dropping his things. He heads right for the bedroom and collapses, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep himself standing and having this conversation again. “Sorry I left you hanging all day, I shouldn’t have. I just...needed more time then I thought.” 

  
  
  


“That’s alright, babe,” Harry assures quickly, and Liam can hear the uptick in his breathing, like he’s anxious, “no worries at all. You um, I’m glad you took the time you needed. I’ll never have a problem with that, I always wanna support you.” 

  
  
  


The hopefulness in his voice has Liam pressing his face into his pillow to muffle the choked sob that suddenly possesses him. Harry’s so hopeful he’s changed his mind, talking to him like they’re going to move forward. But they wouldn’t be moving forward, Liam reminds himself sternly, though his chest aches in response anyway. It’d be continuing on as it were, and that’s hurting Liam just as much. 

  
  
  
  


“I know,” Liam agrees softly, clearing his throat, “I know you do Harry, and I’m grateful for that, but -“ 

  
  
  


“But,” Harry repeats, losing any sense of control in his tone he was pretending to have, “but what, Liam? Don’t tell me you’re - no. No, no, Liam, there isn’t any - don’t say what you’re about to say Liam, don’t - just let me come over, please. You - you had your time to think, okay? I gave you - I gave you that time, I’m sorry that I kept pestering, I was just worried, but I’m going to come over now. Okay? We will talk, okay?” 

  
  
  
  


He can hear Harry moving about quickly, most likely trying to throw on whatever he can and grab his things as swiftly as possible, like he can make it to Liam’s before Liam can tell him otherwise. 

  
  
  
  


“Don’t come here Harry,” he says, “please don’t come here. I can’t. I can’t do this Harry, it’s hurting me - it’s hurting us, and some bloke I don’t even know.” 

  
  
  


“Liam!” Harry interrupts, crying openly now, Liam can tell by the way he hiccoughs, “Stop - just stop, I’ll be right over, we’ll talk -“ 

  
  
  


“There isn’t anything to talk about Harry!” Liam explodes, banging his fist down on his nightstand, “we’re cheating. _You’re_ cheating. There’s no way this doesn’t end badly, for everybody. I should have never done this, but I just couldn’t say no to you. You’ve got this way about you, haven't you? Just this way of drawing me - and, and everyone else in until we don’t know which way is - is up anymore.” He has no idea what he’s even saying, or what he might even mean, but he knows if he lets Harry come here it won’t be good. He can’t let him come here, this has to be it. 

  
  
  


“So you’re just going - you’re just going to end this like this? Over the ringer?” Harry accuses, blatantly trying to fish for a new angle, and has he always been this manipulative? Liam’s never noticed before, not like this, even if it’s what was happening. Harry was always so sweet, so convincing in his smile. “You’re not even going to be a proper man about it?” 

  
  
  


“I tried that last night!” Liam cries, suddenly shaking with - with rage or nerves or something he can’t even name. This is awful, he thinks wildly, this is so much more awful then he thought. Why is Harry fighting him so much on this? Why won’t he just let Liam _go?_ “I told you I couldn’t do this anymore last night, in person, and you refused to hear it then! Just like you’re trying to refuse to hear it _now!_ I’m not - I’m not some daft idiot you can just, bend to your will, or whatever! I’m a person, Harry! I have feelings - feelings for _you_ that are just - just terrible. You aren’t mine! You belong to somebody else, someone you’ve been sneaking around on with me for some reason and, and it’s got to stop. I’ve got to stop. I can’t accept half of you, a part of you. I can’t be your sometimes when I’m here dying to be your always. If - if you support me like you say, then support me on _this_. Because this is the only thing I know how to do to make this right.” 

  
  
  
  


He is panting by the end of it, his eyes feeling wet and hot like he’s been crying too, maybe, but his heart is racing and his body is trembling all over. His first heartbreak has nothing on this, absolutely nothing. Not once has he ever felt so defeated, so ashamed and hurt and _lost_ over someone else. To the point where he can’t think straight, can’t get out his feelings in any sort of coherency and without his emotions bursting through at the seams. He’s always been a generally level headed guy, never enjoyed confrontation or sweated the small stuff. 

  
  
  
  


Harry’s still crying, though now it sounds like he’s trying to quiet himself, “I’m so sorry, Liam,” he chokes, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll leave - I’ll leave you be. I’m so sorry.” 

  
  
  


Liam doesn’t get to say anything else, before the call is ended. 

  
  
  


The silence afterward is deafening. Numb, Liam falls back against his bed, the most tired he thinks he’s ever been in his life. His skin hurts, joints feeling sharp and prickly, like he’s fallen ill. He pulls the covers over his head, forces himself to slow his breathing, and closes his eyes to the feverish ache of his heart beating against his ribcage. 

  
\- - -

The next day, Liam doesn’t sleep nearly as late, though in his slowly rousing mind he wishes to, not wanting to face the day. It’s Sunday, which usually means skipping the gym to hit the grocery store, maybe pick up some wine to have during meal prep, an hour or two of studying or coursework before the  _ actual  _ meal prep, and telly until bed. His version of a lazy day, one he had begun sharing with Harry recently and it hits him just as strong as yesterday, how bad it hurts. There’s a sudden urge to call his mum, perhaps confess everything or just whine for her to tell him it’ll be alright. It’s barely eight in the morning though, and he vows to call later in case they’re having a lie in. 

  
  
  


Groggy and with a sore throat, Liam hops into the shower and stands there until the water starts to run lukewarm. Only then does he wash himself with soap on autopilot until the water is now almost freezing. 

  
  
  


There aren't any new messages on his phone, and he isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed and which one is worse. Grocery shopping at any point today sounds like an impossible feat, so he reasons to do it tomorrow after his only class in the afternoon. He’ll order takeaway again for himself, at some point. Managing to get himself out to the living room, he flips on the telly but doesn’t really watch it, just stares at the ceiling more or less for some time until there’s a knock at his door that gives him such a start he falls off the sofa. 

  
  
  


He approaches the door so gingerly, not sure what he’s hoping for, while partly telling himself to just pretend he’s not here. The knocking continues, however, and there is a slight chance it could be one of his neighbors needing assistance with something (he’s proved himself handy on a handful of occasions and since they’ve taken it upon themselves to show up with a variety of mishaps every so often). 

  
  
  


To his surprise, it’s Zayn and Niall; this time their arms full of takeaway. Liam didn’t know how much time had passed while he had been sprawled on his couch, but surely it couldn’t be any later then ten thirty, maybe eleven. 

  
  
  
  


“A bit early for you mates, innit?” Liam blurts, raising his eyebrows. Both do look a bit tousled, like they’d rolled out of bed at the very last minute to make it here. 

  
  
  


They exchange a glance, blinking sleepily at each other before Niall shrugs, gesturing to move inside. Opening the door further, Liam steps aside to let them in and they all make their way to the sofas without discussion. 

  
  
  


“Uh, last night,” Niall starts, appearing a bit perplexed, “Louis mentioned you might need a lads day, today. Said it as he was leavin, didn’t really go into any detail, just said.” 

  
  
  


It seems strange that Louis would do such a thing; he’s  _ fiercely _ loyal to Harry. A bizarre cross between a partner in crime and a mother duck who pays that extra special attention to her odd little duckling. He’d had no doubt that Harry would tell Louis, he’s just surprised that Louis wouldn’t throw him under the bus to his mates, tell them hotly all about how Liam was sleeping with his best friend behind his boyfriend's back, and then had the balls to break it off with him like he just now figured out how wrong it really was. Not send them his way in a form of comfort. 

  
  
  


“Uh,” he says lamely, “I might.” 

  
  
  


They don’t really press beyond that, though both of their faces say that if he needs to share, they’re here. He doesn’t, not right now, not when it’s still so raw, but he knows he will have to eventually. 

  
  
  
  


Zayn falls asleep shortly after they all settle down to watch footie, his face smushed into Liam’s calf, legs thrown over Niall's lap. Not long after that, Liam finds himself slumping down, curling into the big arm of the couch, Niall copying him from the other side. They all fall asleep like that. 

  
  
  


  * \- -



  
  


This time Liam wakes up to Niall complaining about how reheating chips is never the same, and that they should just go get new ones and Zayn probably studiously ignoring him based off the lack of response, most likely also preheating the oven and preparing the food on pans to warm up. Something Niall is too lazy to do, and is convinced ordering food again is quicker somehow. This is a reoccurring struggle. 

  
  
  
  


Yawning, Liam still feels groggy and unsettled, now even more so from the impromptu nap in the middle of the day. He stumbles his way to the kitchen, yawning again, and pauses in the entryway. Niall is sitting on the counter now, absently bumping his heels against the cabinet and Zayn is pulling out plates when all of the sudden Liam says it. 

  
  
  


“I’m shagging Harry Styles.” 

  
  
  


He pauses, frowning. 

  
  
  
  


“Er, I was. Was shagging. Until yesterday.” He reiterates, not precisely sure why. He hadn’t even planned on mentioning today at all, it wasn’t just earlier he didn’t want to chat about it. Maybe he subconsciously realized there was never going to be a good or easy time, or he just needs to finally have someone else to open up to about it, like confessing in church. 

  
  
  


To his pleasure - kind of, in the most backwards way - Liam is pleased are how surprised they look. It’d been one of his major concerns, how lax he felt like he and Harry had been getting and if his best mates still hadn’t noticed, then maybe they’d been doing a better job then he thought. 

  
  
  


_ Not that that’s an excuse _ , he thinks darkly. 

  
  
  
  


“Isn’t he seeing somebody,” Zayn says slowly, expression blank, “that blokes house we were at the other night?” 

  
  
  


Ashamed, Liam looks to the side, examining his wall with great interest, “Yeah. He is.” 

  
  
  
  


It’s quiet for a bit, before Niall whistles, low and descending in pitch before he makes a low sound like an explosion. For some reason it makes Liam laugh, startling himself. Niall is grinning evenly at him, eyes kind, and the relief Liam feels from the lack of judgement is palpable. Zayn looks more concerned, but equally as accepting and it’s like a weight Liam didn’t even know he was carrying is lifted off his back. 

  
  
  
  


“Wanna tell us what happened?” Zayn inquires, crossing his arms and leaning back against the fridge. 

  
  
  
  


So Liam does; he starts from the very beginning (though keeps it as pg-13 as he can with details) all the way up until them nearly getting caught, and him breaking it off last night. Both boys look sympathetic by the end, never once interrupting to tell Liam what an arse he’s been and what the hell was wrong with him. 

  
  
  


“He’s kind,” Liam keeps assuring, not wanting his mates to get the wrong idea, like Harry was  _ using  _ him even though that’s part of the reason he ended it. Retelling the whole thing keeps bringing up all these other questions and thoughts, “it was just me being a bit stupid.” 

  
  
  
  


“Sounds to me like you were both a bit stupid,” Zayn comments, somehow managing to be brutally honest and considerate at the same time, a feat only he is capable of and Liam loves him for it. He feels a spike of embarrassment again, of course, but Zayn continues on, “like, who stays with somebody because of an assignment? There’s no way, something else was going on.” 

  
  
  
  


Which is also exactly something Liam  _ didn’t _ want to hear. Obviously it’s been running through his mind, that there was more to the story, but every direction his imagination took him further and further down these awful paths where everything he  _ didn’t  _ know was the worst possible outcome. 

  
  
  
  


As if he knows exactly what Liam is thinking, Niall chimes in, “we don’t know that, Z. And even if there  _ was,  _ what if it’s just terrible? What if - he’s in some sorta witness protection, yeah? Or like, a prince or summat.” 

  
  
  
  


Once again, Liam laughs, whether it’s his constant feeling of exhaustion or merely because any sort of comedic relief is just well welcomed relief, but Niall continues to look pleased with himself for his efforts. 

  
  
  


“Niall,” Zayn starts, like he’s issuing a warning, but Liam waves him off. 

  
  
  
  


“If Harry’s a prince,” Liam says, managing a small grin, “then I’m a bloody fool.” 

  
  
  
  


Zayn and Niall cheers their tea to that, Zayn teaching out to squeeze his shoulder and then pull him into a clinging hug that swiftly almost knocks them all over when Niall jumps to get involved. 

  
  
  
  


There’s an echo of something still awful in his chest, bubbling uncomfortably in his throat and turning his stomach. This momentary distraction is just that - a distraction, and while he may be unaware of his surroundings sometimes, he isn’t foolish enough to think that it might get a tad worse before it gets better. Or whatever people always say. He will have to figure out how to start spending his days without Harry, without looking forward to speaking to him, or seeing him. 

  
  
  


It won’t be easy, but Liam’s lived a life before Harry, there’s no saying he can’t do it again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Honest, this started out as a PWP that got away from me. Like I was POSSESSED. There’s something about these Liam/Harry feels that got me like, LETS CREATE ENTIRE UNIVERSES. 
> 
> unlike all of my other fics, I will readily admit, the second part of this is almost done. I considered not posting it until it was complete, but it was getting too long, and I felt like the vibe of the story sort of? Well, maybe I can’t entirely explain it, but it just seemed like a good place to stop and share with ppl. 
> 
> This is a long A/N bc somehow - out of nowhere - this fic became some what of a child to me.


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